


Witch Hunt

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>COMPLETE: <i>Draco will do whatever she wants him to do. If she wants him to recruit an entire army or raze Rome in a day, he'd do it without question. He would swear his life to her if she asked.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

I.

[one.]

In the year 2000, she is the indisputably best prosecutor in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Draco is fully aware of this and in his mind, that is enough justification for asking her to become his assistant Wizengamot seat holder and cleric, a pointless sounding title with significantly more power than the name suggests. But of course, she should know this. She knows all of the players in the field, the ones she should speak to nicely and the ones she should pick fights with. She knows the wizarding legal system inside and out. And as an added plus, she’s smart. And sane. That’s always nice. It should be easy for her, Brightest Witch of Her Age, Hermione Granger, to manage writing, reading, and voting on bills in his stead. Besides, he’s heard from so many of his friends that prosecutors for the government make the best assistants in the Wizengamot.

When he enters her office, she agrees immediately, looking jaded and tired of her job and powerful. After that first meeting, that’s the first thing he thinks of when he thinks of Hermione. Power. Or vice versa. She’s powerful, wrapped up in Ministry mouse robes and hair tied back sensibly and Pronto Notes Quills shoved into her bag. It’s not anything she does. It’s who she is. Draco needs to remember that distinction. “Absolutely,” Hermione replies at his first proposition, barely even stopping to look over the contract. A bit desperate, too, then. “Will I be able to write bills in the interest of some issues I take favor with?”

A fancy way of asking if she can do what she wants with her stead seat. 

More power, he thinks, and files that away in his head for later. Draco’s got the feeling he might need that. He’ll need to know how much she loves power. 

“Yeah,” he responds, trying not to let her know that he knows. He knows how much she craves power. But he’s not going to tell anyone, of course. That would just be… idiotic. “Use your own moral compass.”

She smiles, something he didn't see much of in school, for obvious reasons. Sometimes, he just wishes he could apologize for everything. But he doesn’t. Because prostrating himself on the ground before her is a sign of weakness. Because he gets the feeling she hates weakness. “Excellent,” is all she says, though, looking into his steel grey eyes. 

They become the powerhouse pair in the Wizengamot, lobbying for a generally highly supported balance of liberal and conservative issues. He is surprised by how well she’s received by the elite pureblood society as a whole, and even more surprised about how well he’s received by the Order of the Phoenix supporters. Draco would have never expected passing his lunch hour with Neville Longbottom, of all people, but he does it on an almost daily basis. Times have most certainly changed. Any bill they write passes. Consistently. Perhaps it’s because she’s the most bloody brilliant debater he’s ever spoken to, perhaps it’s his Malfoy connections, or perhaps it’s simply because people actually agree with them. Whichever is the case, they pass almost everything. And he’s actually happy since the first time after the war. He’s not sure why. 

The Educational Standards Motion in 2002. The Muggleborn Integration Fund in 2004 for the new students who had no idea how to even convert their money. The Old Magic Protection Policy during the blood magic riots of 2009. The Changeling Act of 2010. The Higher Education Standard of 2013. The so called Sympathy for the Devils Act in 2017 that offers health care for those dying in Azkaban. And that’s not even a third of them. They’ve halfway redesigned the education system in the fifteen years that they’ve worked together and done even more for muggleborns. They understand each other, better than he understands anyone else that was in his house or has the same mark on their arm or followed Dumbledore into the light. If he had to name one person he really truly trusts, that person would be Hermione. 

Draco Malfoy is impressed by how similar their views are when Voldemort isn’t controlling their every thought. 

Hermione Granger is no longer welcome in the Burrow.

[two.] 

The new Prime Minister of Britain is elected in 2020. He is a spectacular idiot. Kingsley Shacklebolt, who is the current Minister of Magic, has been forced to talk to the idiot because that’s part of his job, to talk to the Prime Minister about the magical world. It’s going to be a mess, Draco knows it, and he’s right. 

Kingsley comes stumbling out of the meeting with the Prime Minister with a frown on his face and an odd band on his wrist. “What’s that?” asks Hermione, ever observant. 

“Some sort of cuff that he put on me. I don't know why.”

“So he’s crazy,” Hannah Abbott states. They are in a meeting with the Wizengamot and Shacklebolt, and they’re trying to decide just how much information the new PM gets in the future. Or doesn't get, if things go Draco’s way. Which they probably will, knowing him. 

The group of about fifty witches and wizards sit down to the discussion, and Shacklebolt begins to tell them of what happened with the Minister. “I entered the room by apparating, because that’s what Fudge did and he was pretty good at getting people to believe him, and introduced myself. First, I told him the basic facts, and he seemed…”

“Seemed what?” Longbottom asks, leaning back in a way that Draco might accidentally misconstrue as casual. It’s not, obviously. Hermione pointed out the fact that Neville clutched his wand and tapped his foot anxiously to him at their first full meeting. He had known there was a reason he’d chosen her. 

“I guess he seemed excited. Like he was waiting for something magic or other,” frowns Shacklebolt. Draco finds his lips turn into a frown as well. This man could be dangerous. A Muggle that believed too heavily in magic, that would be bad. And with his influence, there will be problems. He glances towards Hermione, who looks to be narrowing her eyes and getting just how bad this is. Good. 

“What else?”

“He tried to put the bracelet cuff on me right after we met. Aren't Muggles silly?”

Draco and Hermione spend half an hour in conference, trying to decide how to make this Prime Minister seem like a threat instead of an idiot. They can't find a way around it, and in the end, they vote for telling him about almost everything because right now, sticking out of the crowd is a bad idea. They’re trying to pass something else right now, something big, and having people disagree with anything they do is not a good idea at the moment. 

Hermione has a stroke of genius and suggests using those Malfoy connections to get everyone on the side of telling the PM, and then one person, preferably Theodore, to vote the other way. They can feed information to him about what they want to be said, and their side will get the attention without the stigma they can't have. 

[three.]

The three of them meet on a Saturday after he’s gotten the others sorted out. Theodore looks at them oddly after they state their request, but finally agrees to it once they’ve told them their final strategy. He takes in the information that Hermione give him and decides to do it. Her writeup for the dissenting opinion is so good, in Draco’s opinion, that the majority will want to change their minds after voting. 

Their work pays off, and at the end of it, Theodore sticks out like a sore thumb and is hounded by the press for his vote. He sends them neat copies of Hermione’s paper and provides interviews for over half of the papers that question him. Their plan has worked, and now there are editorials in the news that call for a different vote. 

Hermione is incredibly pleased. “We need to give the muggles the smallest amount of information possible. They shouldn't have those kind of facts about us,” she says in a short speaking piece for the nightly radio.

Popular opinion is inflamed. They demand judicial review. Unfortunately, it’s not granted. Hermione is in a snit for days about it. Draco consoles her by saying, “Since everyone’s against Kingsley telling too much, he likely won't anyway. You don't get that kind of public view and not pay any attention to it.”

He doesn't. 

[four.]

Draco is sitting in his office, going over the tenth draft of their bill with a red grading quill, slicing out parts that Theo wouldn't vote for and the parts that Longbottom wouldn't vote for. It’s controversial, what they’re trying to do. He doesn't need them to tell him that. Hermione enters when he’s on the third clause. 

“I heard from Percy that Shacklebolt doesn't plan to change anything on his report.”

“Who?”

“Percy Weasley.” She looks annoyed. 

“He’s not going to change anything?”

“Not according to Percy, who just went over his last draft.”

“Why not?”

Hermione shrugs. “He’s a big fan of transparency within government, or whatever he means by that.”

“So he’s going to tell the idiot Prime Minister everything? Not just the basics?”

“Apparently, he was talking about how he doesn't think that an unintelligent Muggle isn't a threat.”

“So he’s going to say everything.”

“Not everything. More about society than anything else. Probably not very much about the war.”

“Your intelligence network rivals my mother’s.”

Hermione smirks. “He also said that he thought blood status was the most important thing to tell the PM about. So untrue. Especially with the Muggleborn Integration project. It hardly matters anymore if you get adopted by a Sacred 28 family. Or a relatively pure blooded one, anyway.”

Draco nods. It doesn't. Almost all Muggleborn witches and wizards are adopted at a young age via the changeling project and integrated into wizarding society. It’s a solid system, one that works for them and makes sure every child knows how to get onto Platform 9 and 3/4s. 

“Anything else?”

“Not anything directly sourced, but Abbott says he might talk about population and location.”

“That’s too much.”

“Exactly. And we can't do anything about it.”

“I guess we’ll just have to let things play out, then,” Draco says, frowning. This is really not good. A stupid muggle is ten times worse than an intelligent one. His father told him this when he was young, and for some reason, it’s stuck with him. They just have no idea of how to tell the public that without sounding prejudiced and backwards. And it’s a huge, festering problem. Draco is becoming worried, and the bottles of Calming Draught that Hermione and Theo both carry around with them at all times are starting to look a hell of a lot more appealing. 

“This is not good,” Hermione says to Draco four days later. “He talked to them today, and they all just snapped a leather bracelet cuff onto Percy’s wrist and let them go.”

“They?” Draco frowns. Something is not right. 

Hermione scowls. “Yes, they. The Prime Minister brought some friends of his. One of them showed off his guns.”

“Guns? As in muscles?”

“No, as in the Muggle weaponry, Draco. Try to keep up. Anyway, he showed off a small collection of Muggle weapons to the gathered witches and wizards and managed to scare the shite out of Shacklebolt. I think he’s regretting telling him about us.”

“This is not good.”

Hermione snorts, a rather unladylike noise, if Narcissa Malfoy had had anything to say about it. She doesn’t, of course, because she fled the country at the end of her house arrest and is currently living in Paris. Not that he cares, anyway. Not really. “No shite.”

“We just have to see what happens next, I guess,” he shrugs, and frowns.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless self promotion: I got a twitter. And a LiveJournal. And I posted a crack!fic, complete with rare pairs and ridiculous AUs. And my tumblr is still bonafake. And also you can email me at bonafake3 AT gmail DOT com. Because FFN is weird with links, replace things in caps with the actual symbol.
> 
> Now. Onto the story!

II.

[one.]

What happens next is a witch hunt. Draco was expecting it, of course. His whole coalition was, really. Theo, Hermione, Weasley. They knew, or had an idea at least. But now they're hunting and there's nothing they can do, not with the Muggle weapons and bombs and the ridiculous idea that fire can get rid of them or drowning them all. Or metal stakes. Answers vary. Draco isn't worried about the fire, or even the drowning, even though he's not a particularly good swimmer. They have charms to let them breath underwater, more spells to stop them from burning. But the Muggle weapons. Those things scare him, with the burning acrid gunpowder and shots that you can't heal with magic or at least heal very easily. He's scared, and asks Hermione if she thinks Shield Charms can save them from the bulls, or whatever it is that they're called.

"I don't know. We'll have to see about that," she says with a voice so incredibly clinical Draco is even more afraid.

He's scared, more scared than when Lord Voldemort was sticking his Mark on his arm, more scared than when they were storming the school and killing people he knew. More scared than that. At least he knew what they were. Wizards. Nothing- nothing unnatural like people without magic. No, these people have tanks and bombs and machine guns and magic is going to die out. And that is what scares him. Not the loss of his own life, not really. But the loss of magic terrifies him. The fact that in the future there might not be Hogwarts, no safe place for wayward sixteen year olds with marks on their arms. No place for rising racist dictators to grow their roots. And certainly no place for swotty muggleborn know it alls that infuriate him a bit. He wants every part of the magical world, the Hermione's and the Voldemorts alike. The muggles and their bombs are a threat to that. He doesn't want anyone to forget. That is what scares him.

Hermione's scared too, though not of the guns or muggles. No, she's not scared of that. Not really, he doesn't think. Of course, she doesn't want them all to die out, but that's really not the first thing she thinks of. She's scared for the children. But she's so practical, so terrifyingly practical, she simply purses her lips and designs a temporary class at Hogwarts for Bubble Head and Flame Freezing Charms and Healing Spells and wandless magic, or at least a little bit. It's quickly adopted by Minerva McGonagall, who seems to be the only authority figure that agrees with them and actually understands the horror of the hunting. They have published pamphlets and aired radio advertisements but the public is simply not excited. Not yet. There's no proof of the horror the muggles might bring to them, none at all. Draco wonders what they'll do when it actually starts.

There's something bubbling underneath the surface. It's not a shout, not yet, but Hermione swears by their propaganda and Wizengamot voting actions and she knows, oh, she knows what the muggles are going to do next. And then she and Theo are lighting the matches underneath the floor of the public and everything starts smoking and heating up and there are little explosions in the street because the people are just barely starting to get scared.

[two.]

The first witch burning, or attempted one, is that of Marietta Edgecombe. She survives, but just barely, and is admitted to St. Mungo's the very next day. Hermione sniffs when she hears the news and has Percy Weasley design a terrifying infomercial for the Prophet. It is on every second page and the public is enraged. They stomp outside of the Ministry's door. They march into the Wizengamot. Draco is surprised by how quickly people become scared. They are frightened, and the press release made by a sweating Ministry Assistant Deputy Translator does absolutely nothing to help. And now, Hermione smirks at him in his office, the public is going to ruin the Minister. His approval ratings are down the drain. On the other hand, though, the Wizengamot officials are at nearly eight percent approval, the highest they've been for years. And Theo and Neville both swear that it's all due to Draco and Hermione.

Of course, him and Hermione are watching the idiot make the press release because there's absolutely nothing else to do except for sit around in his flat with Theo and make more notes on the Muggle machines and worry and write press releases. It's a bloody mess, and there's nothing they can do to sort it out.

Hermione and Theo move into his flat halfway through 2018. They claim it's for strategic reasons, but Draco suspects it's because they are no longer able to afford the one they used to share on top of a Diagon Alley store due to recent salary cuts. The whole world is falling apart while Hermione levitates her trunk (singular, mostly filled with books) up into his home, and Theo follows with another, also mostly filled with books.

There have been twenty new witch burnings in the last few months. Out of all of them, seven have been children, boys and girls that didn't know enough magic to save themselves. When they move in, Theo is a celebrity for having voted against the measure to allow Kingsley to speak about wizarding society to the PM, and there have been very loud, very vocal calls for someone new as the Minister of Magic. Someone like Hermione, golden girl, Ministry prosecutor, Malfoy connections, brilliant political experience. It's gotten so that they're actually considering it.

As they levitate their things up, Theo is scowling. Draco falls behind to talk to him. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Do you want to tell me why you're so cross?"

"Not particularly, no."

"You really ought to," Draco says crossly. "I need to know if you're too cross to convince Hermione that she ought to be headmistress at the primary school."

He hears a flat "No." from higher up his staircase. Theo laughs. "You're not going to be able to do that."

"I won't be a teacher. I'll be a Minister of Magic, perhaps."

"Alright," Draco says amicably. "If we're going to do that then I think you should make you announcement on the front steps of Ministry. And while you're at it, try to make the cost of Dreamless Sleep go down."

"Will do," she responds, chucking a hat at him. Hermione pauses at the top of the stairs, considering. "Seriously, though. What if I were to become Minister?"

"I don't know. Now would be the perfect time for a political takeover. Wizengamot approval ratings are ten times higher than that of the actual Minister. So you could, I guess."

"So we've got approval ratings of 90%? Nice."

Draco nods. It is nice. "I don't know, though. I need you help in the actual legislature, and your opinion is invaluable in the actual voting. I would prefer you stay with me. Especially to push through, well, you know."

She nods. "Once the hunts are over, then. Then I'm taking over the world," Hermione says in a almost joking manner. But they both know she's not. Suddenly, though, Hermione has to sit down because she's probably drunk so much Calming Draught this week it could put her into a coma. After she's thrown up the most recent bottle, he drags her to St. Mungo's to get her stomach pumped. They both know the drill. Just don't talk about it tomorrow.

[three.]

Draco and Hermione get the Primary Education Institution Act passed quickly after she moves in. They have nothing else to do, really. There aren't any proper distractions, so they distract themselves with work. And they're still terrified. It's terrifying, all of it, the fact that children are being hunted and killed for walking through the wrong places or hinting at magical ability. He doesn't want a future where that's something that happens. It's not something he's going to live for, and he doesn't want anyone else to either.

He hasn't been living for the future for a while now.

The Ministry is stalling. Paperwork from seven months ago is finally finding its way to the desks of junior assistant Ministry workers. There is nothing they can do, short of holding them at wand point to stay overtime. Draco, for all his inherent wealth and connections, cannot do a single thing to get things done faster.

He meets with Hermione, Theo, and Percy Weasley every single day during lunch to check up on drafts of laws, the daily news, and public opinion. Percy Weasley has proven to be a necessary member of their little group, getting them inside information on new burnings, the progress of the school, the Minister's actions. Theo wriggles his way towards the voters in the Wizengamot and gets their opinions, swaying them towards him and finding Muggle information on witch burnings. Hermione drafts laws as quickly as she can and edits the new ones so slightly that hardly anyone can tell, but they make all the difference. They are making a change, but it is not enough.

It is never enough.

They need to do more, but there is nothing they can do, not really. They've educated the children. They've gotten wands for kids, and changelings for infertile purebloods. There's care programs for former Death Eaters and muggleborns are an integrated part of society. There is nothing else they can do. He wants to do more. He wants to help more people, but there is only so much they can do.

[four.]

Wizards and witches are dying, or at the very least, being attacked. The hunts have continued with a ferocity, and no one is safe. Not purebloods or muggleborns. Something about a disaster that's going to destroy everyone is really unifying the wizarding world. Kingsley Shacklebolt has declared it a national state of emergency, and now everyone's freaking out.

Draco and Hermione watch the violence from a distance. There really is nothing else they can do. The Wizengamot is utterly helpless to do anything. He's terrified and helpless and doesn't know what to do except keep trying to fix the world with little bills and keeping Hermione from having panic attacks and nightmares more terrible than angels and keep Theo away from his search for the bottom of as many bottles as possible, potions or firewhiskey, and it really doesn't matter because-

Because Harry Potter has knocked on the door of their apartment asking for help.

And Hermione is being as brilliant as she normally is when she's not shouting in her sleep or frozen in a spot and filled with panic. She's come up with an idea, but she swears it needs Harry Potter's endorsement before they can go public with it. And Draco agrees. Theo narrows his eyes, suspicious as usual, but ends up agreeing too anyways. And Harry Potter delivers.

Sweet Circe, does he deliver.

He spreads information around the wizarding world nearly as well as Percy Weasley. He appears in press conferences to talk about the Granger-Malfoy Initiative. Overnight, they've become shining stars in the eyes of the media, endorsed by Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to Help Out. And their plan has gotten so much new support it's crazy. Draco grins at Hermione and says, "See what happens when you keep your famous friends around?"

She doesn't grin back.

They continue to use Potter as a puppet, gathering support for their plans and pushing, pushing, pushing the fear into a mold that can help them fight or save or whatever it is that Hermione decides. Draco will do whatever she wants him to do. If she wants him to recruit an entire army or raze Rome in a day, he'd do it without question. He would swear his life to her if she so asked.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part 3 of Witch Hunt! One more to go... You can request one shots through FFN's pm function, tumblr (bonafake), or gmail (bonafake3 AT gmail DOT com), if you'd like.

III.

[one.]

Their plans have been executed to the letter. Harry's still happy doing exactly what they tell him to, and has even made Ginny Potter speak to them with a civil tone. The bunkers are finished and they're getting ready to start the first phase of their plan. Draco actually thinks they might survive this. Maybe. He hopes they will. It's been a long time since he's hoped anything.

Harry has joined their strange little insurgence recently; they meet to exchange notes at Draco's flat. Theo still stares at him with suspicion, but for the most part, he's been decently welcomed. They discuss any other security measures that they could take or people they could ally with. But there is nothing, nothing else they can do to help the children that are still being burnt at the stake to this day.

Draco has seen them do it. Him and Hermione went to see one day when there was nothing to do and they thought maybe they could save him. They couldn't. He's taken to having a swig of Hermione or Theo's Dreamless Sleep every night before he goes to bed just so he doesn't have to hear the kid's screams again.

They have to fix this. They have to stop it. Harry tells them to stay in the flat most of the time, and him and Hermione and Theo are getting antsy, being locked up all the time. The Wizengamot has not met for several months, nor has anyone gone to the Ministry for work. The street riots are getting so bad that most people are being just like Hermione and Draco, staying locked up in their houses. Potter, being the Auror he is, has been involved in the efforts to get the Prime Minister "neutralized."

A fancy term for killed. Or obliviated. Whichever is easier at the time.

No matter how bad the violence in the streets or how vicious the Aurors are getting, the bunkers are done and the children know wandless magic and they are maybe going to be saved because Harry Potter has deigned to help them and for the first time in a really really long time Draco is thinking of the future.

He's thinking of a world filled with children like Harry's son, Al, who has taken an instant fondness for Hermione and Draco. He's thinking of a child like that, a boy plays Seeker and has bushy brown hair and chocolate colored eyes, about a girl with pale blond hair and a fondness for books and ugly half kneazle cats. Draco shakes the thoughts out of his head. He's too old for kids now. And besides, who would want to bring a child into a world like this? One where your kid could be slaughtered for shooting off a few sparks? Not him, that's for sure. At least not right now.

After the witch hunts are over, that's when he'll thinks about the blond girl reading the huge book with the kneazle at her side. Draco shakes his head when he thinks of all the things he's been putting off until the hunts are over.

[two.]

Draco and Hermione have been working practically non stop since the bunkers were built to get the children and everyone else ready to be moved. They have gotten as much ready as they can for the "relocation."

A fancy term for squirreling away.

Hermione is such a ball of nerves the night they move the children into the Hogwarts bunker he nearly forces the bottle of Calming Draught into her hand. They all pass it around the room, taking larger gulps than strictly necessary. Draco jerks it away from Theo before he can take even one sip. He does not want to be bringing anyone to St. Mungo's tonight. Everyone that's helped them with this is there. Harry, Hermione, Theo, Percy Weasley, and Minerva McGonagall. They look around Hogwarts solemnly. The children are also there, looking just as solemn and Draco wants to cry. Sixteen year olds should not have that kind of look on there faces. Except-

Except he did.

And now he really wants to cry, to sob into Hermione's hair and hide there forever. She is so strong, that witch, to be standing there with an iron clad face and pragmatism and terrifying power and only now is when he realizes it.

He wants to run away. But he can't, he's going to help the sixteen year old kids with the clenched jaws and eleven year olds that aren't going to cry, aren't going to, aren't going, aren't. He might now be able to help them right now, but he can save their lives. Damn. Now he's empathizing with Potter and his condemned hero complex.

The kids with icy expressions walk into the bunker one by one, some looking around as if this might be the last light of day they'll ever see, and others with resigned faces staring down at the floor, as if this might be the last light of day they'll ever see. Draco swallows and looks at Hermione. The kids are going to be okay. They're going to be okay until the Aurors "neutralize" the Prime Minister and the blood thirsty muggles with terrifying weapons.

Hermione is staring down into the bunker that's been layered with protection charms and Muggle repelling wards and enchanted metals as if it's her own grave.

When they returned to Draco's flat late that night, he sobs into his pillow after going to bed. He doesn't want to think about it, about the hollow faced children and fear. But he's forgotten something, something really important. "Silencing charms," Hermione says, appearing in his room with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Draco can't talk.

"It's okay," she says, sitting down next to him and pouring herself a more than healthy portion. She passes him a glass and pours some for him too. "They're going to be okay.

He can only nod. He's still terrified.

[three.]

The morning after they've drunk themselves nearly sick on elf made wine and fallen fast asleep, Draco wakes up early. This is uncommon for him. He just doesn't do that sort of thing. It's odd. Maybe it's the smothering anxiety, maybe it's the warm witch in bed next to him, but something in him wakes him up before Hermione does.

He stalks through the rooms of their apartment, looking for something that can't be found. Draco doesn't even know what he's looking for, really. Something inside of him is slowly breaking, cracking into a million pieces that can't be fixed with a simple Reparo. He's scared. When there's steps behind him, he flinches. "Draco," Theo says.

"Oh," he says, letting out an audible sigh of relief.

"You're not doing good, are you?"

"What do you think?"

"No?"

"Exactly."

"What should I do?"

Draco runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know."

Theo shrugs. "Okay, well this might cheer you up. We've got the rest of the bunkers ready all over the UK. Percy and I have arranged for you and 'Mione to get shipped off to one sort of close. You can stay there until it all cools down."

Draco growls in frustration. Damn Theo and his political alliance with damn Weasley. "I don't want to be shipped off to some bunker in the corner of the world and wait for this to be over and I doubt that Hermione will want to be either. I want to stay here and help!"

Theo shakes his head. "There's nothing else you guys can do. You've already done enough for the world and you know it."

"We can do more," he insists, but the idea is a little bit appealing to him, even now. Only a little bit, though.

"You can't. You've saved the next generation several times over and there's nothing else."

Hermione pokes her head out of his doorway. Theo narrows his eyes in suspicion. Well, Draco guesses he has every right to be. She just walked out of his room, for Merlin's sake. "Are you talking about the bunker situation?"

"Yep," Theo responds, gives them both measuring, judgmental looks and stalks off.

Hermione runs a hand through her hair. "We're going."

"No."

"There's nothing else we can do, Draco! We have to, okay?"

"Fine," he says crossly, and walks back to his room to pack up his stuff.

The next day, they're standing at an apparation bank ready to go. Harry and Percy and Theo are there too, ready to send them off. Draco is still rather adamantly against going, but he will. Because if not them Potter will go with her and that means one less top notch Auror to fight the Minister. They are politicians, not fighters. Well, he's not. One look into Hermione's eyes would discredit that statement immediately.

They apparate to the bunker and enter quickly. It's safe. Hermione, however, looks around in apprehension. "Well, here we are," she says. "Our new home."

[four.]

The rest of the day is spent shoving their things into drawers, or in Hermione's case, stubbornly not unpacking, as if they won't be here for all that long. Draco stares at her suitcase and her posture and decides that she is terrified, ten feet under the ground and surrounded by incredibly strong wards and charms. He wants to tell her how scared he is, too, but he can't because they are trapped ten feet underground and will most likely be there for far too long. Draco hopes Potter will be able to get rid of the Prime Minister good and fast. He hopes. And frowns. He doesn't want to hope.

Hermione is still aggressively not unpacking and is instead reading on her stomach on her cot. He lays down too. Harry had recommended not performing magic unless necessary and Draco is nervous as hell about it. There is nothing to do. So he starts talking. "What do you think is going to happen?"

Hermione looks up from her book. "I don't know."

"Worst case scenario?" he asks, practically begging by now. This is a game they play sometimes, when they've got no chance of getting the vote on a bill they want and Draco will ask for worst case scenario. And she gives it to him, usually something ridiculous and decently scary and just as unlikely.

Hermione shrugs, on her back on the cot. "We all die. No more magic except for random muggleborns still on the continent. And then they're all killed by the witch hunts."

Draco shivers. He guesses that it really is the true worst case scenario. "I don't want that to happen," he says.

"Me neither."

They are lying down in silence and he is wallowing. He is wallowing in fear and anger and even more fear. It is terrible and he wants to do something. But he and Hermione are utterly immobile in the bunker and now the only ones that can help the wizarding world are Harry and the rest of the Aurors. After an hour of unbearable silence, he gets up. "Let's play some cards," he says to Hermione, who looks to be wallowing in her own separate misery but he's known her so closely for so long he knows that she's thinking because Hermione Granger does not wallow.

"Okay," she says, and goes over to her bag and grabs out the deck of cards that they bring along with them everywhere. He smiles as he remembers how they both figured out the other adored muggle cards. Now they both play muggle poker when they're both bored.

She deals out a hand for five card draw and they silently contemplate them. Silence. It's the only thing he hears. And he hears the fear. It's nearly palpable, and Hermione feels it too. She must.

"Draco?" she asks, looking up from her hand. Hermione's dark eyes don't reveal her fear. No. The fear is in her shoulders. He knows that. "Are you scared?"


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 4 of Witch Hunt is complete. The entire piece is now done, though I do plan to do some revamping, expanding, and editing of it. It feels... unfinished. Anyways, hope you enjoy. Also, you can request one shots or birthday drabbles on my tumblr bonafake, or my gmail bonafake3 AT gmail DOT com.

IV.

[one.]

"Yes," is what he says a few minutes after she asks. "Yes."

They play poker in silence for a few more minutes until she says, "That was a stupid question. "I just- I wanted you to say something. You were being so quiet and- and-" she trails off.

"There's nothing to say," he says, nodding. "I know."

And for a while, there is nothing to say. Not really.

Until they start to hear a grinding noise above their heads. "It's probably nothing," Hermione shrugs.

Draco wants to believe her.

The sounds persist, and they've gone through five more rounds of five card draw and fifty more galleons on Draco's part before Hermione addresses it again. "I wonder what it is."

"Me too," Draco says. "What do you think?"

"I don't know."

They continue playing their card game, acting like they're not scared out of their shoes, but they're both still constantly looking up at the metal ceiling of the bunker. Soon enough, there's a nasty scraping sound. Draco jumps up and he's shaking, he really is shaking in his boots and Hermione looks at him with a scared look. Is she scared of him? Or for him? He supposes that he does look a bit off right now, paler than he's ever been before and really and truly shaking. "Draco?"

He sits down and returns to his cards.

"What is it?" she asks, looking at him with surprise. "Don't tell me that that's nothing, alright?"

Draco glares. "It's nothing. Isn't that we always do, we just leave everything up in the air and unsaid? We do, don't deny it. Just- just- shut up and get on with it is what we always do, and you know it!"

"Draco, are you okay?"

He looks back down at his cards. "What do you think?"

"Obviously no. You just have to ask for convention's sake," she responds. This brings a ghost of a smile back to his face. But he doesn't want to smile. He doesn't want to smile because they're probably going to die and there's not going to be anymore magic in the world when they do.

"I guess not then."

"It's okay," she says. "I'm scared too."

Draco frowns. "I'm not scared," he lies, looking down.

"It's okay if you don't want to say so," Hermione responds. "I am too."

"I know," he says. "I am scared. I am, Hermione! And I don't know what's going to happen and you said that we're all probably going to die!"

Hermione is staring at him now, a sad expression on her face. "Everyone's scared, Draco."

"You said we're all going to die," he says, narrowing his eyes.

"I've always been a pragmatist," she admits, and looks down. There is another sudden scraping noise, and they both look up. He hears Hermione drag in a deep, sharp, quick breath. Draco looks across the table and runs over. Her face is pale and she's clenching the table. He holds her tight, tight enough to forget. He hopes so, anyway.

[two.]

Hermione is still standing there, holding the table tightly, and they might all die in a few minutes but it doesn't matter as much as it did five seconds ago because Draco knows now that she's just as scared as he is and it feels a bit better now. But then again, he doesn't want his partner- is that what she is, really? to fall into another panic attack, and besides they don't have very much Dreamless Sleep here. "Are you okay?" he asks, even though she's still crying and pale and she has no clue what to do.

"What do you think?"

"Of course you're not. It's a convention," which gets her to smile a little bit, even though not very much. He wonders if this is how she feels when he's scared.

"Let's just- just talk about something else," she says, and sits back down.

Draco sits back down too, placing his hands on the table. Isn't this what they were just talking about, the deflecting? "Okay. Love lives?"

Hermione laughs. "Shut up. I've been too busy changing the world for that to happen."

He raises his hands. "Okay, okay!"

"What about you?"

"Nil."

"Then why'd you ask?"

Because the thought of that is the only one I have around you.

Because I want one with you.

Because you're my future, you witch and I wished you knew that.

Draco shrugs, a million thoughts running through his head. "I dunno."

"Well, any special someone's?"

He shrugs yet again. "Sort of."

"Do I know her?"

"Yes," Draco whispers. He sort of wants her to know now. They might die, after all. There's another shrieking sound above them, and then there's nothing."What about you?"

"You know him."

"Theo?" he asks, certain that it's him. They're best friends and all. They lived together for a year.

Hermione laughs, just a bit. "No, definitely not. How are you this unobservant?"

He shrugs, again.

"Theo and Percy are probably shagging on my bed at this very minute just to be contrary."

"Oh," Draco says, feeling stupid.

"So, really, Draco, who is it?"

"You," he whispers, scared. Even though he's killed and been hunted and might die today, being in love with someone- her- scares him more than any Muggle weapon or even the loss of magic.

"Good," she says, and then he looks up, surprised, because she's walked over to him and is powerful and beautiful even in the dim yellow light of the bunker, their cage.

Hermione stands in front of him and he wonders why she looks a bit nervous until he knows. Oh.

And then he can't really think about how beautiful she is because her lips are on his and that first kiss- their very first kiss is the one that ignites something inside of him and he is burning. That is precisely what they are doing. Burning. He kisses her back and they are on fire. If this is what kissing her feels like, he never wants to stop. Ever.

[three.]

Hours later they have stopped, there has not been another sound, and Draco is relieved. Presumably, the lack of shrieking noises means that they're going to live for a while, at least.

He kisses her again.

The next few days are a blur of kisses, shaky and uncertain, soft and slow, hard and biting. By the end of it, he's gotten the whole collection. A collection of kisses. And Draco doesn't know about her, but he'd like a few more in the set.

Kissing Hermione is the only bright spot in an otherwise very dark world, Draco muses as he wakes up on the fifth day of their captivity. He wakes up in his own bed. Of course. Even in a bunker, they're still slaves to propriety. He doesn't care, not really, not after he's kissed her.

He walks over to the table where she's sitting, knees tucked up, reading one of the tens of books they'd both brought. "Hey," he says, sliding his hands over her waist.

"Hey," Hermione responds, setting down the book. A werewolf romance. One of his, then.

"Have you heard anything?"

She shakes her head no. Draco kisses the top of her head, her hair, her nose, her. "This sucks," she says.

He looks at her with a question in his eyes. Does she mean this? Them?

"Being stuck here," Hermione clarifies and he loosens his grip on her hair. Hell, he hadn't even noticed he'd been holding onto it.

"Yeah," Draco says, because there's nothing else to say and he hates silence.

They sit quietly for a minute or two. This isn't silence, it's something better and quiet that's not. And he likes it. Not talking is different from silence. He thinks back to a time five years ago, when they were mostly alone and he smiles. They are not alone now. Everything is better for them both.

Except there is the overarching fear of the hunts, that they might be discovered and killed, that kids in bunkers might be killed and burned at the stake. He is scared for them. Very, very scared. And even though Hermione, being near Hermione, makes the fear begin to ebb, he can still feel it, simmering- no, boiling beneath the surface.

He is still human. He is still afraid. And even her, light embodied perfection, cannot get rid of those pesky little facts.

But kissing her can help him forget for a while maybe. Hermione's lips are a drug and he is an addict. Slowly, he moves his hands across her sides, and she melts into him a bit. "Draco," she hisses, and captures his mouth in a kiss that burns and dissolves any bit of remaining ice inside of him. No more pretense, and he doesn't know that he's saying that aloud but Hermione does and says, "Never," and then they are kissing more.

Her tongue is mingling with his and she tastes like something real, something new. "Yes."

[four.]

In the last week of their captivity, not much has changed. He still kisses her a lot and remembers every single one. It is perfection and something very new and very real and very much like love.

Perhaps it is.

But no matter how much like love it is, they are terrified, even now, even still, when there has not been sounds above them for a long time. He is pretty sure he loves her. Almost certain now. And even the fear can't dissolve that. They're terrified, but they are in love.

At least, they're scared until there's finally news.

A patronus arrives on that Sunday. It's a huge stag, Harry's for sure. Draco is almost certain of it. And a message comes with it. "We've got the PM."

That's it. Hermione stares at Draco in the bright light of the bunker. "It's going to be over soon! They've got him!"

And then she's hugging him and they're jumping up and down, and Draco is happy, they're safe, he doesn't have to be scared anymore and it's like a huge weight has been lifted off of his chest and he's flying, he can fly and there's only a small part of him that wonders what's going to happen when they can leave.

They get the next patronus from Potter only two days later. "You can leave. All we're doing is cleanup now."

Hermione grins at Draco and starts toward the ladder. "Wait," he says.

"What is it?"

"I- I don't know. I just- I get this feeling that we're going to be different when we're not in the bunker.

"What do you mean?"

"I- never mind," he says, walking towards her.

"Are you sure? You can tell me anything, Draco."

"No, really, let's just get out of here," he says, brushing past her and frowning.

"Tell me, please?" she asks, and puts her hands on her hips.

"I get this- this feeling that we're going to- you know, be different with other people out there. Like we're not going to- to stay the same."

"I don't- I wouldn't know why."

"I guess just because there's other people and you won't want to be with me?"

Hermione shakes her head no, vehemently. "No. Never," she says. "Why do you think that?"

"Because you won't want to be seen with a filthy Death Eater!" he shouts, not looking her in the eyes.

Suddenly, though, Hermione is standing in front of him, turning his head up to face her, her eyes amber slits. "Ex," she responds softly, and then she kisses him carefully, tilting his head and hers so as to accommodate both noses. It's gentle, this kiss, loving.

"I know," he says, and looks up at her once again. Hermione. The powerful second chance giver. And they have one, right in their grasps, and they need to take it.

He holds her closer for a million reasons and she's only one of them. "I love you," he says.

"I love you too," she says.

"Just- just- I need to know that we won;'t change when we step out of this room."

"We won't," and then they're opening the trapdoor and stepping out into the blinding white sunlight.


End file.
